


All The Better

by saltandbyrne



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Comeplay, Community: homebrewbingo, Facials, Fingerfucking, M/M, Marijuana, Pornstars, Rimming, Schmoop, Simultaneous Orgasm, Switching, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:06:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Dylan manages to keep such a straight face during shoots mystifies Tyler.  Seriously, how was he supposed to stand there with his dick in his hand and say, “All the better to fuck you with”?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dazedrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazedrose/gifts).



> Happy birthday to my dear, sweet dazedrose, who is the loveliest muse ever and makes me want to move to Australia and eat ice cream while we watch TV together. :)
> 
> I'm using this for the "simultaneous orgasm" square on my homebrew bingo card.

“My, what big hands you have.” Dylan arches an eyebrow and fiddles with the zipper on his sweatshirt, tugging it up and down as he licks his lips.

 

“All the better to grab you with, Little Red,” Tyler says as he lunges, gripping one hand into Dylan's sweatshirt and pulling him in close. He cocks his hips forward to rub his thoroughly-fluffed cock against Dylan's barely-there short-shorts.

 

“My, my,” Dylan opens his eyes wide, pursing his lips and arching his back to roll his slim hips against Tyler's hard-on where it's ready to pop out of his jeans. “What a big cock you have...”

 

Tyler is _not_ going to screw this up. He takes a deep breath, camouflaging it like he's smelling Dylan. He pushes Dylan forward onto the flannel-sheeted bed, the red of his sweatshirt getting lost in the lumberjack plaid of the comforter. Dylan lands in the pose Tyler has come to think of as “booty spider,” his long arms and legs sprawled out with his perky ass up in the air. Tyler tries to keep his tough-guy face on, jutting his chin out as he undoes his fly and pulls his cock out, making sure it springs against his stomach at a good angle.

 

“All the better to fffffhhhuhuh...” Aw, fuck it. Tyler dissolves into a laughing fit, immediately followed by Dylan cracking up and rolling around on the bed. How Dylan manages to keep such a straight face during shoots mystifies Tyler. Seriously, how was he supposed to stand there with his dick in his hand and say, “All the better to fuck you with”?

 

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Colton huffs, throwing his arms up as he gets up from the folding chair he insisted on using. Dylan had warned him that Colton took the whole “director” thing pretty seriously, and Colton is living up to his reputation right now. “It's a good thing you can keep your dick up for 48 fucking hours, Tyler, or we'd be completely fucked.”

 

“For fuck's sake, Colt, calm down.” Posey's statement, like all of his statements, is made with calm gravitas and punctuated with a long hit off his sixth digit, the ever-present joint pinched between his fingers. “We're only shooting one other scene tonight.”

 

“Am I the only one who seems to remember we have a whole other fucking threesome scene to do? We are on a schedule, people, a _schedule_.” Colton gives all three of them an immensely put-upon look, like he's the one who has to keep his dick hard on command.

 

“I'm the one getting stuffed full of cock at both ends, Colton,” Dylan says, leaning up on his elbows and narrowing his eyes at Colton. “Believe me, I remember.”

 

“Dude.” Posey lays his hand on Colton's arm, flashing the puppy eyes of infinite wisdom at his boyfriend (“partner,” as Colton always said, even if Tyler thought that sounded ridiculous), radiating calm and THC. “Let's go outside and have a smoke.” He says it like he's imparting the meaning of life, but Posey could ask for a side of fries and make it sound like the introduction to an Eckhart Tolle book.

 

Colton huffs his way out of the “studio,” the spare room in Dylan's apartment that serves as set, editing suite, and slightly-awkward spare bedroom when Dylan's parents came to visit. Dylan had dressed it up like a hunter's lodge for the shoot, with red plaid and antlers everywhere he looked.

 

Tyler tucks his cock back into his jeans, collapsing down onto the bed next to Dylan. He might have to request that these sheets migrate to their own bed (after a very, very thorough washing) because they were soft as hell.

 

“I'll get it next time, I promise.” Tyler looks over at his boyfriend, who's pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up and looks almost irritatingly adorable. Irritating because Colton was right, they did have more shooting to do, and they had to do it tonight. Keahu was going back to LA tomorrow morning, and Dylan had insisted that no one else would be the right fit for the Huntsman.

 

Not that Tyler could really complain. Keahu was so hot it was almost inhuman, and he was one of Tyler's favorite people to shoot with. He was always professional and pleasant, and he respected Tyler and Dylan's relationship.

 

Dating a porn star had its weird moments, sure, but Tyler had known what he was in for when he met Dylan. He certainly knew who Dylan was, as did anyone with even a passing knowledge of twinky college porn. Dylan had spent his eighteenth birthday on camera with a trio of enthusiastic well-wishers. _Dylan Gets Devirginized_ was a legend, although if Dylan was actually a virgin when he shot that, Tyler was a fucking unicorn. He'd only gone up from there, working with all the big companies before striking out on his own.

 

“If I didn't know I were a brilliant writer, I'd almost think you didn't like my script,” Dylan teases, resting his chin in his hands. “I feel confident _Little Red Riding Cock_ will be up there with _Citizen Kane_.”

 

“I'm not even gonna make the rosebud jokes.” Tyler rolls his eyes and wraps a finger around the white drawstring hanging from Dylan's hood, tugging it forward to give Dylan a kiss.

 

“If you hit all your lines, I'll give yours a kiss when we're done,” Dylan says in his real sexy-voice, not the one he uses for shooting, which is about half an octave higher.

 

“Are you bribing me into fucking you on camera?” Tyler murmurs against his lips, untwisting the drawstring from his finger and tracing it over Dylan's cheek.

 

“Worked the first time.” Dylan smiles against his neck and runs his tongue along the curve of Tyler's jaw, and Colton had better hurry up with that fucking cigarette because Tyler's dick was starting to protest the constrictive abuse of his jeans.

 

“Save it for HD you two, jesus.” Speak of the nicotine-buzzed devil. Colton sinks into his chair with an exhausted sigh and scrubs a hand over his face while Posey fiddles with the camera. “Can we please finish this so I can go home and watch Top Chef?”

 

Dylan winks at him and sticks his tongue out, miming his motivational promise to Tyler as he curls his tongue. Tyler cocks an eyebrow and smiles while his dick gives an equally appreciative twitch. At least it'd be nice and wet for the camera.

 

“Remember, more chin-biting, and rough it up a little bit, Tyler. You're the big bad wolf, not fucking Fabio.” Colton raises his eyebrows and impatiently motions for them to hurry up.

 

Tyler gets his lines perfect this time, growling and nipping at Dylan's neck as he fucks him as rough as he can stand. Tyler knows that this is why he's popular, that his persona as this rough, bearish top who throws Dylan around gets them subscribers and pay their bills. But it's not what Tyler really likes, which is probably for the best anyway. It made it easier to separate work from fun.

 

Not that he isn't having fun, hiking Dylan's hips up with a firm tug and giving him a slap on the ass that sounds a lot worse than it actually is. Dylan screams his head off like a pro and arches into each thrust, angling himself so Posey can get a good shot each time Tyler pulls out to the tip.

 

They get the money shot on Dylan's back, after Tyler hastily pulls the condom off and gives himself a few firm strokes. On impulse, Tyler leans down to lick a stripe right through the milky white puddle on Dylan's back. It's not in the script but he knows Dylan will like it. Even Colton smiles, giving him a silent thumbs-up and nodding with approval.

 

The rest of the shoot goes well. Keahu rolls in and plays the Huntsman with the sort of chest-puffing swagger that would look ridiculous on someone less handsome. Dylan looks sinfully adorable in his open sweatshirt, knee-high athletic socks, and nothing else, bare ass tilted up as he sucks Keahu off while Tyler fucks him. Tyler had never been the jealous type, and watching Dylan swallow their friend's dick just makes him want to grab his life and hug it like a puppy because _fuck_ that's hot. There was a reason Dylan did this professionally.

 

Keahu's also a pro, holding himself back while Tyler works himself up to his second orgasm. They manage to come within seconds of each other, coating Dylan's face until he has jizz dripping off his eyelashes. Tyler knows he can't run his tongue through _that_ , but it's awfully tempting.

 

“That's a wrap!” Colton _always_ says that, doing a slow-clap that no one picks up. Posey sparks another joint and packs the camera up while Keahu showers and changes for his flight. Tyler had to admire the work ethic of someone who could shoot a threesome and head straight to JFK without batting an eye.

 

“Hey, man,” Posey says as he and Colton are leaving, nodding sagely at Tyler, “that was some good improv.” Tyler and Dylan laugh and close the door behind them.

 

“That _was_ good,” Dylan says, looping his fingers into Tyler's pants and pulling him towards the bathroom. “Let's get you showered off, huh?”

 

Dylan's wearing the fuzzy bathrobe he always wears after shooting, the one with the little hole worn out on the left elbow. Tyler traces his finger over it as he lets Dylan lead him to the shower.

 

They always shower together after shooting. Tyler knows it's totally Freuded out but he still likes it. He lets Dylan soap him up before he returns the favor, lazily making out with him until they're both cleaner than strictly necessary. This is his favorite part, running his hands all over every inch of Dylan, warm and wet as he presses his chest to Dylan's back and trails his fingers down the V of his hips.

 

“Not yet,” Dylan says as he bats Tyler's hand away from his dick after a few soap-slick jerks. Tyler grumbles against his neck as Dylan shuts the water off. After a totally perfunctory towel-off for both of them, Tyler stumbles back towards their bedroom with water dripping into his eyes from his hair. Dylan's skin is still damp and warm everywhere Tyler touches it, catching against his fingers as he tries to keep his mouth latched onto Dylan's while walking backwards.

 

He mostly succeeds, only stumbling when the backs of his knees hit their bed. It's still rumpled from this morning, mismatched sheets bunched up in the middle because neither of them was the make the bed type. Why bother when they were just going to mess it right back up?

 

Tyler pulls Dylan onto him, bringing him to straddle his lap while Tyler traces over the curve of his spine and kisses him. This was the kind of stuff they couldn't do on camera, pressed close together and just kissing, deeply, slowly, until all Tyler can hear is the rush of blood in his ears and the soft, wet sounds Dylan makes as he digs his fingers into Tyler's shoulders and works his hips in that little figure-eight motion that grinds their cocks together and makes Tyler feel like he's running a fever.

 

Dylan pulls off Tyler's mouth and trails his lips over the stubble on Tyler's jaw, nipping at his neck and tracing his tongue along the shell of Tyler's ear. “I want to fuck you,” Dylan breathes into his ear, rolling his hips to show Tyler just how much his dick agrees with that idea.

 

“Yeah,” Tyler answers, barely, more of a nodding mumble while the rest of him shivers. He lets Dylan push him back onto the bed, inching himself up until he's lying on his back with his head on the pillows. Dylan's hands are spread out over his chest, pressing down on him as Dylan leans in and kisses him, slotting his dick up right next to Tyler's so they slide together every time Dylan rocks his hips.

 

So much of their life on camera was frantic and rushed, clothes torn off without a single kiss. When they did this, this time that was just for them, they took it as slow as they could stand. Dylan takes his time kissing his way down Tyler's chest, tonguing at his nipples until Tyler starts to moan. He hadn't even known he was that sensitive there until Dylan had spent an evening slowly driving him out of his mind after their third date.

 

Tyler arches up off the bed as Dylan trails his tongue down the little dip between Tyler's abs. He's always been sort of ticklish, a fact Dylan is more than happy to exploit. Dylan plants his palms on either side of Tyler's waist and holds him still, digging his fingers in until they're just shy of hurting. And fuck if thinking about Dylan's fingers doesn't make him squirm even more, thinking about where they're headed.

 

Dylan might look like the prettiest little bottom to ever wander into porn, but he had a set of hands made for Tyler's ass. Although if Tyler's being honest, just about every part of Dylan felt like it was made for his ass, including the clever little tongue that's working its way down the groove of Tyler's hip.

 

Tyler's cock is hard and ready to go, completely oblivious to any post-work exhaustion after about ten minutes of Dylan's attention. It's wet at the tip where it's arching up to his belly, and Tyler feels a familiar freeze-burn rush when Dylan blows lightly over the head of it. Jutting his hips up to get his dick closer to Dylan's mouth, where it clearly needs to be, Tyler half-groans half-whines as Dylan snatches his head back and chuckles.

 

“Uh-uh,” Dylan says like the bossy fucking tease he is, shaking his head and skating his tongue along the crease of Tyler's thigh, “don't want you to come until I'm inside you.”

 

It's a hard case to argue, especially when Dylan flattens his tongue and drags it up the seam of Tyler's balls. The wet pull on his skin lights up a string of nerves that stretch to Tyler's teeth, which he grits together as Dylan rolls his tongue and does it again. He can feel a trail of spit running down the crack of his ass, tickling him as he lets his legs fall open.

 

Dylan gives him a few more swipes before he moves down, running his fingernails down the backs of Tyler's thighs until he lets his hands rest flat against Tyler's ass. Tyler can feel himself flexing open as Dylan presses his hands to expose him, soft breath ghosting over his hole. He can hear himself making desperate little noises in the back of his throat as he digs his fingers into the sheets, aiding the press of Dylan's hands as he bends his knees and pulls his legs up.

 

Dylan sighs and slowly, so slowly Tyler might actually cry, runs his tongue around the outside of Tyler's hole, tracing a few lazy circles while he hums contentedly. Each pass of his tongue brings him closer to what Tyler really wants, to that hot, wet pressure inside him that lights him up like a Christmas tree.

 

The pressure of a thumb on either side of his hole is the only warning Tyler gets before Dylan points his tongue and sinks it in, curling it back and forth while Tyler lets out a strangled moan. His stomach tenses with each probing flex of Dylan's tongue, so much sensation all at once it spreads out to his toes as he curls them and throws his head back.

 

Jesus _fuck_ , the things Dylan does to him. Tyler mewls pathetically when Dylan pulls back, smirking up at him with a set of swollen, spit-wet lips that should be cast in silicone and sold worldwide. Tyler's cock gives a sharp twitch and oozes out a new bead of precome as he watches Dylan slip three of his fingers in between those lips, sucking them into his mouth and pulling them out with a dirty pop. “Hnngh,” is Tyler's only answer as he feels Dylan press one inside. It slips in easily, his hole already wet and open from Dylan's mouth.

 

Tyler moans and rolls his hips into it as Dylan works his finger in and out, looking up at Tyler with that little smirk he always got when Tyler started getting eager for it. Two fingers sink into him like heaven, stretching and filling him so good it makes his chest tighten. He could seriously do this forever, not giving a flying fuck what he sounded like as he writhed around on Dylan's perfect fingers.

 

“Oh, god, _fuck_.” Tyler has to bite his own fist to keep himself from screaming when Dylan spreads his fingers open and slips his tongue into the space between. This, _this_ is what Tyler could do forever, fuck, he could probably come in about two seconds if he put a hand on his dick right now.

 

As if Dylan had read his mind, which Tyler still wasn't willing to rule out with the way Dylan always knows what to do, he pulls his tongue back and trades it for a third finger. It's too much and just right all at once, and Tyler makes good use of the hand still in his mouth as he stifles a long, visceral groan. Dylan fumbles around with his free hand, coming back up with a bottle of lube from under the bed. He pulls his fingers out and drizzles some Wet Platinum over them, letting them sink slick and deep back into Tyler until he's knuckles-deep.

 

Dylan lets them rest there as Tyler opens up for him, rolling his wrist to twist his fingers and stretch Tyler's rim. Tyler's skin feels hot and tight on him, sparks running up and down his spine every time Dylan moves his hand. He starts slow, drawing his fingers out to the tips and pressing them back in as Tyler takes deep breaths and feels himself relax. Dylan speeds up and starts to fuck him in earnest, pumping his fingers in and out until Tyler's letting out a long stream of meaningless sounds, all of them desperate and filthy.

 

The sound Tyler makes when Dylan grazes his fingers over his prostate surprises both of them, a loud, desperate yelp that his cock helpfully answers with a fresh trail of precome. Tyler's definitely not going to have a problem going for round three.

 

“You good?” Dylan asks softly, drawing his fingers out and settling up on his knees. Tyler tries to say yes and sort of settles on nodding wildly and moaning, “Ynngh,” as he spreads his legs in invitation. Dylan licks his lips and looks at him with narrowed eyes, keeping his gaze on Tyler as he slides a rubber on and slicks his cock up.

 

Tyler wraps a hand around his dick as Dylan presses into him, more to stave himself off than anything. Dylan sinks into him slowly, making sure Tyler feels every inch of him. He bottoms out and bites his lip hard, taking deep breaths through his nose and digging his fingers in behind Tyler's knees. Tyler's not the only one starting to come apart.

 

“Fuck, baby,” Dylan sighs, bending down to kiss Tyler as he shifts his hips, staying as deep inside him as he can while he leans in. “Thinkin' about this all day,” Dylan mumbles in between kisses, curling his tongue to trace over Tyler's teeth before he nips at Tyler's lower lip, tugging it softly as he starts to slowly rock in and out. Dylan's ass was a celebrity in its own right, but his dick was fucking gorgeous, long and just thick enough to make Tyler feel nothing but fullness and the soft, grazing brush of it over his prostate.

 

This had been Tyler's biggest fear when he started dating Dylan. Even after the pleasant surprise that Dylan could be a toppy little fucker when he felt like it, Tyler had still worried that he'd be too gentle for Dylan. Deep and slow were his two favorite adjectives when it came to fucking, and that had seemed totally at odds with the frantic, pounding pace Dylan put out on screen. Tyler didn't want anything pounding on his ass, it wasn't a goddamn front door.

 

Dylan didn't seem to mind, though, not once he saw the way Tyler came apart for him when he was seated deep and sure in him, the way Tyler lost track of everything that wasn't Dylan. That pin-point focus seems to wash over Dylan and make him glow, make him look a thousand times more beautiful than he does for anyone else as he circles his hips to fuck Tyler long and deep.

 

Dylan's fingers card through his hair, tugging gently and sending shivers to run down his skin and meet up with the twisting pressure at the base of his spine. Each press of Dylan's cock inside him urges him closer to the edge, until he's clamping a hand around his cock and mumbling against Dylan's lips. “M'gonna come, fuck, want you...”

 

One of the best things about Dylan's profession was his years of practice coming on command. Tyler was getting better at it, but Dylan could hold himself back as long or as little as he wanted. It was indescribably hot and exactly what Tyler wants right now.

 

“Shh,” Dylan whispers, knowing what Tyler's trying to say. “I got you.” Dylan kisses him before he leans up, pulling Tyler's hand off his dick to wrap his own around it and smear the wet trickle of precome across the head. “Gonna come with me, Ty, do it, baby, come on,” Dylan urges him, stroking his dick and flicking his thumb over the slit as his hips start to stutter in short little jerks. “I'm ready,” Dylan nods his head and looks into Tyler's eyes, his mouth parted open as he works his fist in time with his thrusts until Tyler can't do anything but _feel_ , the white-hot thrum of sensation under his skin and the tickle of static electricity jolting up to the tips of his ears and the steady, constant, perfect push of Dylan filling him up and pulling his orgasm out of him.

 

The wet warmth between them spreads out over his belly as Dylan jerks him through the last spurt of it, leaning down to hastily kiss Tyler as he groans and hooks a hand under Tyler's shoulder, pulling him close as he comes inside him. Dylan talks a stream of shit on camera that still made Tyler blush, but when it's just them, close like this and wrapped up in each other, neither of them says much. Dylan just lets out that growling-whine noise and presses himself so close to Tyler that he can feel every twitch of his muscles as he rides through it.

 

Dylan always pulls out too soon for Tyler, but they were safe above all else. Tyler still feels floaty and hazed as Dylan cleans them up and settles back down beside him. He doesn't resist when Dylan pushes at his side and rolls him over, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him back until Tyler is thoroughly little-spooned.

 

“My, my,” Dylan murmurs against his ear, shifting his hips to mold himself to Tyler's backside, “what a cuddly ass you have.”

 

“Shut up,” Tyler mumbles against the pillow, feeling his eyes drifting shut as Dylan kisses the nape of his neck and yawns. “G'night, wolfy.” Dylan's words get lost somewhere around the top of his spine.

 

Tyler just grumbles and wriggles back, drifting off into the warmth of Dylan at his back and the bone-deep satisfaction of a good, honest day's work.

 

 


End file.
